


Eyes Closed

by beerem



Category: The Outsiders - All Media Types, The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Denial, Depression, Drug Addiction, Homophobia, Johnny Cade is Not Okay, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:13:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22343146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beerem/pseuds/beerem
Summary: Johnny struggles to cope after an experience with his first girlfriend brings a revelation of his sexuality. He finds himself drifting from those dearest to him as he combats his overwhelming feelings for one of his closet friends.[warning: alcohol and drug abuse]
Relationships: Johnny Cade/Dallas Winston, Johnny Cade/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 50





	Eyes Closed

****

**1 _R_** _**evelation** _

His father was right about him.

Those nights when he would come home, inky eyes stalking him like prey, breath laced with enough whiskey to burn down their house with the strike of a match.

"I met him before...standing there, fallen soldiers of every flag at his feet...smiling." He would slur, teeth bared, calloused fingers locked around his neck. "I can see him in your eyes, boy. You're a _sinful_ creature...a serpent."

Three months later and there is still a hole in the drywall where his father slammed his head. It hurts to look at, taunts him, a cruel reminder that he is fucked up and his father of all people was the first to sniff it out - even before himself. He wonders...how long until the gang realizes?

The bell startles him, knee smacking the chair in front of him. He hears giggling from the flock of pretty girls in the hallway and panic strikes, an uncontrollable pain in his chest, stressing about Lisa and their encounter. What if she said something to her friends about his...inability?

What kind of guy would run from his girlfriend when she was pleasuring him? And from a girl as gorgeous as Lisa Montgomery?

The answer to that made his cheeks burn and his stomach twist. He feels like concrete is drying in his lungs.

Something hits his arm, causing him to nearly jump out of his skin.

"Sorry, didn't mean to spook ya. You alright?"

"Oh," he mumbles, briefly glancing at Pony. "Yeah...just tired."

He snorts, then has the decency to look guilty. "Well, you are practically sleeping on a a paper bag. Broken glass would be more comfortable than that cot, Johnny. I'm sure you would feel a lot better if you let us get you a mattress - "

"No," It comes out desperate. Pleading. "I'm fine, really. Just forget about it."

By some miracle, Darry is allowing him to live there. That is more than enough. He will never be able to repay all that they have done for him. He doesn't want to leech off them anymore. All he wants is to be independent and okay. He thinks about it often...being okay. Not hurt, hungry, homeless...simply _okay_. That's all he wants.

"Alright," he says, yet they both know the subject will come up again. "I been meaning to ask, and you'll probably be with Lisa tonight, but I was wondering if you wanted to go a party? Mary Walsh invited me and I thought it would be better if we all went. Maybe even Two-Bit, you know he'd be over the moon. It would be more...friendly."

"Friendly?"

His cheeks blush in a way that does not fit who he is. Uncomfortably. "Leanne McConnor told me that Mary has an...interest in me. Which is nice and all but...I like her as my friend. And only that. I don't want to give her the wrong impression by going alone."

"You could just tell her the truth."

He says it without thinking.

There is a sourness in the silence that strangles him. A liar, a lousy hypocrite...he figures people like himself have to be the worst kind there is.

"You're right." Pony declares moments later, all determined and confident. It makes him feel even worse. "I'll tell her tonight - before the party. It would be wrong not to."

Like the coward he is, he says nothing.

As if there was a cold hand on his neck, a sharp sensation - he feels her before he sees her. Their eyes meet for a painful second.

A couple jocks were competing for her attention. The way they were glaring at each other makes him remember the Greek mythology they just read in English... _The Iliad_ with the stunning Helen of Troy. He thinks Lisa is the kind of girl kings would kill for.

She has a certain look to her, something akin to confusion. Johnny watches her attempt to maneuver through the herd of guys pinning over her. Her lips twitch, yearning to say something to him.

Naturally, he lowers his head and walks faster. Pony notices, of course he does, and matches his pace.

Once his feet hit the pavement of the sidewalk outside the school, he feels himself sprinting. His mind is much faster than his body. They both clash, making him feel overwhelmed and drained. Helpless. 

Being the best track athlete in the district, it was easy for Pony to stop him.

He cuts in front of him, making him stumble a bit, his eyes searching his face as Johnny tries to catch his breath. "Johnny..."

The thing about Pony is that he is the most decent person on this planet. He does not pester him about Lisa or drown him with pity. They stand there, staring at each other until their breathing normalizes.

"Pone, I...don't...I don't know what I'm doing."

"Does anyone?"

They walk home in silence.

* * *

Midnight strikes and he cannot sleep. There is something animalistic about his mind, it refuses to let him close his eyes, as if something is lurking in the shadows. Hunting him.

The house is empty, which brings a loneliness that he cannot handle with his new...revelations corrupting his every thought. Darry is working overnight at some warehouse as both Soda and Pony are out living their lives the way teenagers do on the weekend.

Somehow it makes him feel more...malfunctioned. He should want to go out, he should want to interact with his peers, he should want to be with Lisa. He should be normal.

It is like a chore to him. Worse, actually. He rather be doing chores than socializing.

Yet, on that Friday night, he demanded normalcy. Needed it.

He musters all courage he can find and throws on some clothes that are clean, washes himself up, and hides as much of his skin behind his old jean jacket before taking a deep breath and stepping into the night.

Since he has no clue where the party Pony was invited to is, he walks to the closest bar he can find. It is only a twenty minute walk from the house, situated on the end of a street that is rarely busy.

He is uncomfortable and sweating from nerves. Opens the door with a shaky hand before he can talk himself out of there and back into his cot, into his head.

Smoke lingers at the ceiling from all the cigarettes, the sound of pool sticks smacking the billiard balls can be heard faintly among the blaring music.

He feels out of place sitting at the bar, yet surprisingly, no one is staring at him.

The bartender is a sickly thin woman with stringy hair. She shoots him a stern, skeptical look that makes him jittery. She sighs, asking, "What's your poison?"

"Uh." His heart is racing. He knows that no one in this bar would care that he is underage, probably would still serve him even if he was an infant in a swaddle blanket, yet he feels out of place. "Beer?"

She stares at him for a second before rolling her eyes. "You're gettin' our shittiest whiskey."

She sets the glass in front of him with a grunt. He is still very uncomfortable, too awkward among the nonchalant patrons. He chugs the drink without hesitation.

"Jesus," He seethes, his insides screaming.

"I'll be damned, you didn't even puke." The bartender seems surprised. "Another?"

He blinks and somehow he is three shots in and feeling good. Great, actually. Warm and light.

"One more," he slurs a bit. Besides cheap beer, he never had any other kind of alcohol. This was different...faster, more fatal. He likes it.

She says something he does not hear, sliding the shot to him. Before he could take it, someone else does.

"Mind if I cut in?"

The voice is too close to him, makes him flinch.

The stranger huffs out a laugh. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

"S'alright."

She looks oddly familiar, a slender frame with amber hair, and a kind smile. Strangely, something about her presence comforts him.

"I'm Beck," she greets. "Got a light?"

He nods, fumbles through his pockets until he finds the zippo lighter Dallas lifted from the gas station last summer.

A lick of the flame bites his finger as he lights her cigarette. It stings, but he barely feels it. He loses himself in the lull of the liquor.

It was the smoke that brought him back. Beck is watching him, looking mostly amused, sitting at a distance that would make him uneasy if he were sober.

"Oh." He realizes, his manners stolen by the booze. "Johnny."

The girl has a sweet laugh. Genuine. "Well, Johnny...what did she do?"

"Who?"

She rolls her eyes. "Are ya really gonna try and tell me it ain't a girl that has you moping around in a bar on a Friday night?"

His heart stammers for a moment. The tipsy part of his mind wants to take his switchblade and slice open his chest for the stranger. Pull apart the flesh and muscle, let her see how the truth sits on his lungs like lead, how it threatens to snap his rib cage into tiny pieces. He just wants to breathe again.

But a truth like his is...twisted and sick and a loaded pistol at his temple. If he lets it out, it will dig his grave for him before the sun rises.

He refuses to think about it.

He does not look at her. "Ain't nothin' like that."

"For your sake, I sure hope you're a better liar when sober." Beck grins the same way Steve does when he wins a game of poker. Sly and shameless.

Somehow he finds himself thinking about his father as his boot gets stuck under one of the legs of her barstool, and in a blink of an eye he is staring up at the cloudy ceiling, smiling.

"I'm okay."

Beck helps him up, laughing. "You know what, Johnny? You aren't yet."

* * *

He remembers thinking it was an unusually cold night for September.

"Have you ever?" Beck asks.

"No," he admits, not really sure what the girl is talking about. "I don't think so."

She chuckles, using his lighter again. "I like you, Johnny. You're not like other guys, you know."

His cheeks burn, heart stumbles over itself in his chest. Paranoia creeps into his thoughts, punishing him. How can she know?

"It's a compliment - you're not a pervert. Or boring. You can hang _and_ you're cute. Quite rare if you ask me." She takes a puff of her cigarette before passing it to Johnny.

He takes it, and wonders if there is a chance that he is normal. Maybe his...encounter...with Lisa was a hoax, maybe he was not ready or...simply not into her. It was plausible.

In the midst of his thoughts, he hits the cigarette without a care. It is thick and overpowers his lungs, forcing him to cough violently.

"Is...this...?" he tries to ask, but keeps coughing.

"Just a little somethin' to calm your mind. I could tell your thoughts are heavy when I first saw you across the bar. Stress like that will kill you. You need to relax."

His throat is burning. "I never..."

"Been high?"

He feels embarrassed by that, not entirely sure why.

She has a smile like warm honey. "It's freeing. Just take a couple more hits, you'll see."

He doesn't want to. A part of him is terrified, knows Darry would kick him out, Pony would be so disappointed, the gang would treat him different, but he is so _sick_ of being scared. Of being the weird kid that was jumped, the lost puppy. 

They finish the joint within what could be minutes or hours. Johnny feels distant, like he is staring at their world through a telescope a million miles away. Safe. He feels safe.

Beck is laughing and smiling and he finds himself doing the same.

"I'm glad I met you, Johnny." She says, and sounds like she means it. "I'm hitchhiking my way to the Pacific. I woke up one day and realized there is so much more, you know, than my life in Bumfuck, Pennsylvania. I keep thinking about it...the ocean...can you imagine?"

He does not know what to say, does not really seem to understand her in that moment.

Tires squeal, loud and unforgiving. He should have jumped, or flinched, or been nervous. Yet, in a strange change of events, he was fine.

"Get up."

He recalls arguing, a lot of it. But he is tired, so tired, he believes he can feel it under his eyes.

* * *

They drag Johnny into the house and to his room, a strong arm tight around his waist as they mumble a strain of nasty words.

"Can't leave ya alone for a goddamn week, for fuck sake."

Johnny grins, lazy and honest. "Dal?"

"Unfortunately."

Dallas tosses him onto his bed - _cot_ , as Pony would correct - with one swift motion. It is a definite loss, he starts to feel cold again.

The moonlight sneaks through the lone window and cuts across his sharp jaw, lighting up those icy eyes. Johnny does not have to be sober to feel the heat in the air, the tension.

He pretends it is not there, confesses, "Missed you, Dal."

Instead of responding, Dallas pulls the boots off his feet with too much aggression, the force of it shoots into his ankles.

As if he were a child, he innocently states, "You're angry."

Calmly, he watches him narrow his eyes, jaw twitching. "Yeah, Johnny, I'm angry. Now go to sleep."

The tiny room starts to twirl and spin and cave into itself. "Like my father."

"No."

"I don't think...I don't love her."

He says nothing so Johnny mumbles, "Don't want her."

In his state of insobriety, his mind is silent and simple yet it is sending Morse code messages to the rest of his body that he cannot interpret.

"I'm...not normal."

Tears are falling down his face as he observes this man sitting on the edge of his cot. Skin dry and dirty, hands scarred rough from manual labor, boots and jeans covered in mud and horse shit - he was beautiful.

If Dallas said something, he never heard him. Yet he covered him in a blanket, and that was more than enough for Johnny to hold onto.

"Did you miss me?" He asks, absentmindedly, staring at the ground. He thinks about this smell on himself, thinks of Beck. "Did you see the ocean?"

Before he falls into the unknown abyss of unconsciousness, the man he thinks might as well be a stranger standing above him responses, rough and slow, "I did, Johnnycakes. I did."


End file.
